


Confessions Should Be Better Planned

by paperstorm



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sebastian Stan, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, Evanstan - Freeform, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, POV Sebastian Stan, Romance, Sub Sebastian Stan, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:42:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22408894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorm/pseuds/paperstorm
Summary: “You need it, don’t you?” Chris asks. Voice gentle, understanding. Melted honey on Sebastian’s goose-bumped skin. Chris is always so understanding. Never shied away from this, this part of Sebastian he’s always lived with but never been fully comfortable with. Chris learned, and researched, so he could give Sebastian what he aches for. “Need somebody tugging at your collar, arranging you in the perfect position, looking at you while you try not to squirm. Praising you when you do what they asked just right.”“Yes,” Sebastian hisses. He squeezes his eyes shut. He wants to cry. He wants to laugh. He doesn’t know what he wants, he just needs.
Relationships: Chris Evans/Sebastian Stan
Comments: 58
Kudos: 364





	Confessions Should Be Better Planned

**Author's Note:**

> Fulfilling a few tumblr requests to write about this lil moment where sub!Seb might have jumped out during his Men's Health photoshoot  
> 
> 
> Title from the song An Evening I Will Not Forget by Dermot Kennedy

“Look this way,” Carter calls to him, the click of his expensive camera loud in the otherwise quiet room.  
  
Sebastian does, turning his chin just so, pushing his lips slightly forward like he’s learned to do over the years to make them look fuller. He doesn’t love this part of a photoshoot. He always feels a little silly, trying to make himself look sexy, but he supposes probably everyone does. He was having more fun earlier, when they were messing around with a steamer and tanning goggles.  
  
“Show me pouty,” Carter says, and it takes a moment for Sebastian to realize he’s joking.  
  
He figures it out when Carter hums exaggeratedly loudly and continues, “good, now pensive. Hangry. Gassy!”  
  
Sebastian cracks up, breaking the character he’s playing and bringing his hands up to cover his face. The camera continues clicking away. Maybe those will make good outtakes. There’s always a few included, when he does a shoot like this, of him laughing. Chris always likes those the best. Sebastian knows his boyfriend has a whole folder of them on his phone.  
  
“Alright, alright, back to serious,” the photographer says, but he’s still grinning as well.  
  
Sebastian gives himself a shake and schools his features. Maybe the break in the tension left him flushed in a way that captures nicely on camera, because Carter’s face changes.  
  
“That looks great, Sebastian,” he says, gaze suddenly intense as he watches, and Sebastian’s spine tingles at the base.  
  
There are a lot of eyes on him. Somehow it feels more intense than it had earlier when he was literally in his underwear. Maybe because they were playing around, then. Because he was doing goofy karate kicks and complaining loudly about an ice-bath they made him step in. Even though he’s fully clothed, now, the mood in the room shifts and he feels more exposed.  
  
“Put your …” Carter begins, but then decides to walk over and physically move Sebastian’s arm instead of just instructing him from a few yards away. A big hand wraps around Sebastian’s wrist, positioning him how he wants.  
  
Sebastian blinks.  
  
“Looks good. You’re doin’ so good.”  
  
It’s an offhand comment. Likely something he says to everyone he photographs. Not intended to be interpreted as anything more than friendly, platonic reassurance. But it makes Sebastian’s stomach explode in butterflies.  
  
Carter is so close to him, towering over him because he’s standing while Sebastian is seated on the floor. Carter snaps a few more shots, and then reaches out, hand traveling down through the space between them toward Sebastian. He holds his breath. Carter’s finger hooks into the neck of his shirt and tugs sharply, moving the burgundy material down to expose more of Sebastian’s throat.  
  
Sebastian blinks again. For just a moment, the world whites out around him. His skin prickles. Time slows down, mere seconds stretched to what in his mind feels like long minutes, drawn out like strings of thick taffy being stretched nearly to their breaking point.  
  
“Beautiful,” Carter murmurs above him, reverence in his voice.  
  
When Sebastian inhales, his shoulders shake. He can’t imagine it goes unnoticed, and the burn of embarrassment rises in his cheeks.  
  
Hours later, Carter finally calls a wrap on the shoot, and congratulates his crew with a round of hearty handshakes and praise. As the set is being stripped, and Sebastian has changed back into his own clothes in a corner of the room behind a wall of silk accordion screens, Carter approaches him.  
  
“Thanks, man, that was a good time,” Sebastian says, struggling to keep his voice level. It trembles a little anyway, and he curses himself internally. He’s never, ever supposed to let this bleed into his professional life. It’s supposed to be private, shared only with the few people he’s trusted over the years. In recent years, shared only with Chris. Chris, who loves him, and trusts him, and takes such good care of him. The burn of something worse than shame rises as a lump in his throat.  
  
“They’re all gonna turn out amazing, the camera loves you,” Carter tells him kindly.  
  
“Thanks.” Sebastian gulps down a mouthful of saliva and nods. “Can’t, uh … wait to see them.”  
  
“I’ll email you a bunch of proofs in the next few days. I always like to let my subjects have a say in which ones get published.”  
  
“That’s nice of you,” Sebastian says, and he means it. Not all photographers operate that way, and he’s been less than thrilled with some of the shots that have made it out into the world over the last 14 years.  
  
Carter moves in for a hug, clapping Sebastian jovially on the back. Against his ear, he says, “that happens to lots of people. Don’t sweat it, alright?”  
  
Sebastian swallows again. He can’t very well pretend he doesn’t know what the man is talking about, so when they pull back from their hug, he just nods and tries to smile. It almost certainly ends up a grimace.  
  
It’s four days later that he gets a series of emails with zipped folders containing hundreds of proofs from the shoot. He’s in Massachusetts with Chris for the weekend, just a quick visit before he’s headed back to Atlanta for filming. It’s been a perfect 48 hours already; walks through the snow in the deserted woods behind Chris’s farmhouse, watching movies curled up together by the fire, Chris cooking for him, snuggles with Dodger, sex in Chris’s massive bed. Sebastian couldn’t ask for a better way to spend two days and knows he’ll be regretful when he has to leave tomorrow, as he always is no matter how much time they’ve managed to steal together. Chris has more of it these days, slowing down his filming schedule after retiring from Marvel, but Sebastian has much less.  
  
The email comes in on his phone, and for just a moment, Sebastian forgets, and is excited to see them. He retrieves his MacBook from his bag in Chris’s bedroom, and sets it up on the coffee table so they can review the photos together. Chris sits next to him, in an old sweatshirt with tousled hair and a beard that would have to be trimmed before he went any place he might be photographed. It’s his domestic, time-off look, and Sebastian loves it.  
  
The first folder is full of shots of Sebastian playing around on the gymnastic rings, hanging from them, lifting himself up with them, flipping himself around to hang upside down.  
  
“Damn, baby!” Chris cries, laughing brightly. His Boston accent comes out in full force when he’s been home for any significant stretch of time. Sebastian loves that too.  
  
Sebastian chuckles. “I was so nervous I was gonna fall on my head.”  
  
“With those muscles? Nah. My man is thick, as the kids say,” Chris jokes, and Sebastian rolls his eyes.  
  
“Please never say that again.”  
  
The second folder contains shots with the steamer, and there’s one with Sebastian seated in the wooden chair, looking right at the camera with steam shooting down his back, that Chris makes him pause on so he can get a better look.  
  
The joking tone of his voice from before falls away, dissolving into something softer and more worshipful. “Look at you,” he says in a half-whisper, that runs right over Sebastian’s skin. He bumps his shoulder playfully against Sebastian’s, and smiles at him. “You look so good, honey.”  
  
Sebastian swallows. “Thank you.”  
  
“Feel a bit like I should be jealous. You out there showin’ off in front of all those people. And thousands more gonna see it once the article comes out. See you in those tight little boxers, all that pretty skin.”  
  
“M’all yours, you know that.”  
  
“Mm.” Chris picks up his hand, threading their fingers together and squeezing. “Better be.”  
  
Sebastian opens the third file. In hindsight, he should have seen it coming. It’s too tragically poetic, that he opens this one right after Chris had mentioned jealousy. He’s on the ground, in this batch, in that tight burgundy shirt. They’re out of order, not appearing chronologically, so it’s only two into the slideshow that the ones Sebastian had managed to forget about pop up on the screen. The angle suddenly closer and much higher, Sebastian’s face looking right up at the camera, zoomed in close enough to pick up the faraway look in his eyes.  
  
With a quick inhale, tears spring to Sebastian’s eyes as it all comes flooding back to him. He hadn’t _completely_ forgotten, it was only earlier this week after all, but he hadn’t expected the pictures to look quite like they do. It’s so obvious, and it hits him right in the chest.  
  
“Seb?” Chris is asking, concerned, still sitting so close to him. He’s looking at Sebastian, not at the screen. More concerned with Sebastian’s reaction than the images themselves.  
  
Sebastian shakes his head.  
  
“Hey,” Chris murmurs, letting go of Sebastian’s hand in favor of running calming fingertips through Sebastian’s hair. “Baby, what’s wrong?”  
  
Sebastian clenches his molars together and tries to play it off. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”  
  
He knows there isn’t a snowball’s chance Chris will not worry about it, because he’s wickedly perceptive and so loving that there’s no way he’d just let something go if he thought Sebastian was really upset.  
  
Sebastian reaches forward toward the trackpad, clicks out of the slideshow and clicks on a video file instead. It’s clips of the shoot, edited together by the videographer. Clips of him smiling, and kicking playfully, and making faces as he poses in the home tanning studio with the goggles on. He looks happy, and at ease, and the knot in Sebastian’s chest loosens just for a moment, but then on the screen he’s back on the ground in that shirt. He watches as Carter’s hand reaches out, tugs roughly at his collar. They both watch as Sebastian’s eyes glaze over.  
  
He can’t look at it anymore. Sebastian presses the laptop screen shut, a little more forcefully that he meant to. Next to him, Chris’s heat is pressed all along the side of Sebastian’s body, and his hand is still in Sebastian’s hair, and Sebastian wants to sink into a hole in the floor.  
  
“M’sorry,” he mumbles, miserably.  
  
“Honey,” Chris whispers again. He’s tugging, pulling gently at Sebastian’s hand and his shoulder, coaxing him closer, and Sebastian can’t resist it. He crawls into Chris’s lap, unworthy of the comfort but needing it anyway, pushing his face into Chris’s chest.  
  
“I didn’t mean to,” Sebastian promises. He feels sick at the idea that Chris might be mad, feel betrayed, stepped-out on. Chris’s big, generous heart never deserves to be broken.  
  
“Did you get hard?” Chris asks, in a low voice.  
  
“No,” Sebastian answers quickly, his voice cracking pathetically. “I swear.”  
  
“Shh.” His warm breath slides across Sebastian’s cheek, and a shiver slides down his spine. Chris’s lips bump Sebastian’s skin as he talks, leaving wet traces behind them. “It’s okay if you did, sweetheart. I’m not mad.”  
  
Sebastian swallows. He’s warm, curled up in Chris’s lap, but still shivering. Chris notices and rubs his back, hand slowly dragging all the way up and curling around the back of Sebastian’s neck, urging him to nestle his forehead in the cradle of Chris’s shoulder.  
  
“Yes,” he admits in a whisper. Shame buzzes through him. “A little. Not … all the way. Just … you know.”  
  
“I know,” Chris repeats. “That rush.”  
  
Sebastian nods. Heat still rises in his chest, the dizzying burn of guilt.  
  
“You need it, don’t you?” Chris asks. Voice gentle, understanding. Melted honey on Sebastian’s goose-bumped skin. Chris is always so understanding. Never shied away from this, this part of Sebastian he’s always lived with but never been fully comfortable with. Chris learned, and researched, so he could give Sebastian what he aches for. “Need somebody tugging at your collar, arranging you in the perfect position, looking at you while you try not to squirm. Praising you when you do what they asked just right.”  
  
“Yes,” Sebastian hisses. He squeezes his eyes shut. He wants to cry. He wants to laugh. He doesn’t know what he wants, he just _needs_.  
  
“I know, baby.” Chris’s big hand is still on the back of his neck, a warm weight, like an anchor. His other hand trails up Sebastian’s arm, fingers tickling along his skin. “I’ve been neglecting you, huh?”  
  
“No.” Sebastian shakes his head, feels Chris’s beard scratch the skin on his face. They haven’t had as much time together in the last little while as either of them would like, but that’s not Chris’s doing. It’s Sebastian’s schedule keeping them apart. “It’s not your fault.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Chris murmurs, not listening to him. “I’ve been slacking, not giving you what you need. Not doin’ my job. Then you got a glimpse of it from someone else by accident and it hit you, and now you feel off balance. Right?”  
  
He nods fervently. He wants to bury himself in Chris and never come back out. “Please,” he breathes. Please fix it, please make it better. Please make me yours again. Sebastian wants to belong to Chris so badly. He has since the week they met.  
  
“Sebastian,” Chris says, voice a little lower, a little sharper.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“On your knees.”  
  
Sebastian’s entire body shudders. It crashes over him like a wave. He scrambles up out of Chris’s lap, where just a moment ago he’d been content to stay forever, and slides to his knees on the floor. Shoulders hunched, pushed up against the couch, between Chris’s spread legs. Chris’s calves bracket him, safe, belonging.  
  
“Look at me,” Chris orders. Sebastian does, blinking in a futile effort to focus his blurry vision. Chris’s handsome face melts into a smile. His eyes are so blue; oceans Sebastian would happily drown in. He reaches down, cups Sebastian’s cheek. “There he is. There’s my good boy.”  
  
The wave crests again at Chris’s words. Sebastian craves them so much, craves the praise, the reassurance, the possessive nature of it when Chris calls him _mine_. It’s been part of him for so long. So many desperately hidden physical reactions when he was in high school and some cheerleader would get bossy. So many muffled cries into his own pillow as he fisted himself to orgasm with dominatrix porn playing on his computer, struggling to stay silent so he wouldn’t wake his parents. The first time he’d gotten brave enough to admit it to a girlfriend, when he was 26, and how hard she’d tried, even though she was never very good at it. It was sweet that she’d tried, but being shy and soft-spoken herself, it was just never quite right.  
  
And then, Chris. They’ve known each other just over a decade, and they were casual for a lot longer than not, and Sebastian didn’t tell him for so long. So terrified he’d be judged, or that Chris would try, like she had, but it still wouldn’t be right and then they’d be ruined. Sebastian was so wrong. He’s perfect. Strong enough to toss him around but too kind to ever really hurt him. Confident enough to get into it, without self-consciously holding himself back. Golden-hearted enough to be sweet after, his own anxieties soothed by giving orders and being in charge and taking care of someone else. He’d never judged. He’d held Sebastian close as he explained it all the first time, made him feel safe in a way no one ever has. They’d fallen so easily into the rhythm of it, and Sebastian’s spent the last few years feeling more at peace than he ever has.  
  
But Chris was right. It has been too long, this time. And Sebastian felt so awful about giving it to someone else, even by mistake, even though that person hadn’t asked for it and would never have taken advantage. Sebastian’s been a little shaky, these last few days. A little tilted, a little unsteady on the ground he walks on. On his knees with Chris’s spread legs around him, he exhales fully for the first time in what feels like weeks.  
  
Chris presses a lingering kiss to Sebastian’s forehead. His fingers stroke through Sebastian’s hair, blunt nails scratching along his scalp. Against his heated skin, Chris whispers, “so good for me.”  
  
“Chris,” Sebastian begs. He’s so hard in his jeans and he doesn’t know when that happened or why he didn’t notice it until the tip of his dick started pressing against the unforgiving line of his zipper. His hands shake, folded up tightly in his own lap. He aches to touch, but hasn’t been given permission for that.  
  
“Punishment, or reassurance?” Chris asks, still in a whisper.  
  
Sebastian shakes his head, and squeezes his eyes shut. “You pick.”  
  
“No, baby,” Chris says, voice a little firmer. “I asked you.”  
  
His tongue feels twice as big as normal in his mouth as Sebastian swallows. Chris always asks, when he’s feeling like this. Sometimes Sebastian wishes he wouldn’t, wishes Chris could just decide what he needs and make Sebastian take it. But it doesn’t work that way, for them. They’d learned the hard way that sometimes being punished fixes it, makes Sebastian feel right and centered and like everything is okay again, and sometimes it just reiterates in his traitorous brain that he really had done something wrong, hurt someone, let someone down, and makes everything worse.  
  
“Sebastian,” Chris says. His fingers tug, not gently, at a handful of Sebastian’s hair. “Answer me.”  
  
Sebastian breathes through the rush of adrenaline like he’d breathe through a painful muscle cramp. His head is swimming like he’s drunk, but he tries to focus, because that was an order. He can follow orders. He can be good. He thinks back, to the moment it happened. To it being an accident, because Carter didn’t know how it would affect him. To the fact that he hadn’t intentionally done anything, how it hadn’t happened because he’d been careless or unthinking or inconsiderate. No lesson for him to learn from it. Truly an accident, something he hadn’t been able to control.  
  
“Reassurance,” he croaks in a sandpaper voice. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  
  
“You didn’t hurt me, sweet thing,” Chris coos. His grip on Sebastian’s hair loosens, leaves his scalp tingling as the hairs stop pulling at it. Chris’s hands are gentle, one settling back on Sebastian’s neck and the other cupping his cheek.  
  
He nudges Sebastian’s face with his nose, putting a crooked finger under Sebastian’s chin and tilting his chin up so Chris can slide their lips together. Sebastian wants to attack him, wants to be frantic and panicked as he begs Chris’s forgiveness with his lips, but he holds it all back so that it builds like the pressure of steam within him, bubbling and white-hot.  
  
“Open up,” Chris breathes against his lips, and Sebastian obeys eagerly, parting his lips so Chris’s tongue can dip inside, just a brief taste and not nearly enough but more than Sebastian deserves. “You wanna be good again?”  
  
Sebastian nods. “Please.”  
  
“I know you can. Just gotta show me, show both of us. Then it’ll all be okay again, right? That’s how it works?”  
  
Another nod. Dizzy, tipsy already, fully sober but floating. Chris’s hands leave him, and Sebastian whimpers at the loss, but sucks the sound back into his lungs when Chris shushes him gently. He blinks, tries to focus through the blur, to watch Chris’s hands moving to the fly of his own jeans, unhooking the button and dragging the zipper down. His tight grey boxers bulge out of the opening as soon as they’re able to, Chris hard underneath them just from a kiss or two and sitting within close proximity to Sebastian’s neediness. And this, Sebastian thinks blearily to himself, is why it works, with them. Why it never worked with anyone else. Because Chris doesn’t give this to him merely because Sebastian wants it. Chris would give him anything, anything in the world, this included. But he wants it, too. Sebastian needing him like this pushes Chris’s buttons, too. Buttons he didn’t know he had, before they found each other. Two perfect halves.  
  
Chris pulls his cock out, and Sebastian’s mouth waters as a reflex. It’s thick and flushed and shiny at the tip and Sebastian loves it so much, has loved it since the very first time they saw each other naked, back on the set of their very first movie. Back where it all started.  
  
“Show me,” Chris says softly. He holds his dick around the base to keep it upright, looking down at Sebastian with darkened eyes. It’s an order, even if it’s uttered in hushed tones. Chris is good at that. He doesn’t need to be loud to make himself heard. “Keep your hands in your lap.”  
  
Sebastian nods fervently. He clasps his hands around each other, gripping them tight, and leans forward. Chris slides just the tip of himself into Sebastian’s mouth. Heat and salt burst on his tongue, and Sebastian moans wantonly, a ridiculous needy sound even to his own ears but completely beyond his control.  
  
“That’s it,” Chris whispers, pushing his hips forward so he slides in further, bumping the back of Sebastian’s throat, and Sebastian breathes hard through his nose. “Beautiful. My beautiful boy. Mine.”  
  
He whimpers, and vibrates. Everything feels warm and slowed down, and the heavy scent of Chris’s arousal intoxicates him. Sebastian feels his own cock leaking into his underwear and squeezes his hands tighter to keep from reaching for it. He’d like nothing more than to rub against his own palm as he swallows around Chris’s cock but Chris didn’t say he could, so he can’t. Only what Chris says, only what Chris allows. Sebastian doesn’t get to make decisions, when they’re like this, not unless something has gone wrong and he really needs them to stop. It’s all up to Chris, and God, it makes Sebastian fly.  
  
“Made for this,” Chris is saying above him, as he starts to gently rock his hips, sliding his cock in and out of Sebastian’s mouth, using Sebastian for his own pleasure. “Made for _me_.”  
  
_Yours_ , Sebastian thinks, hoping Chris can somehow telepathically hear it because he couldn’t say it out loud with his mouth stuffed so full. He’s nearly delirious, floating on the cloud of being used, but by someone who loves him as much as Chris does. Not chewed up and spit out after someone’s taken what they wanted from him. Chris cherishes him, and Sebastian sparkles when he does.  
  
With a long, low moan, Chris takes Sebastian’s head into his big hands, holding it as he fucks up into his mouth. Sebastian chokes, and loves it, tears leaking from the sides of his eyes and running down his cheeks. Chris pulls back after such a short time, though, releasing him and drawing his cock out of Sebastian’s mouth, taking it from him.  
  
Sebastian whimpers again, in distress this time, and chases after it.  
  
“Hey,” Chris says, sharply. He stops Sebastian from crashing forward into him with a firm hand on his shoulder, telling him _no_ as much physically as he does with the harsh tone of his voice.  
  
“I didn’t …” Sebastian’s throat closes, and he drops his head down, face smushing into Chris’s thigh. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Hey,” Chris repeats, much kinder this time. Tender, soothing. He leans over and kisses Sebastian’s hair, hands going back to his cheeks and lifting Sebastian’s face so he can kiss the bridge of his nose. “None of that. I’m not mad at you. Just didn’t want it to be over so soon.”  
  
Sebastian sniffles, itchy tremors snaking along his veins.  
  
“You’re too good at that,” Chris tells him, petting his hair. Compliments wrap around Sebastian like a blanket fresh from the dryer. “Gets me at the edge too fast.”  
  
“What now?” Sebastian asks, timidly. He wants whatever Chris wants. To please him, make him feel good, make him proud. He yearns for it.  
  
“Wanna show you who you belong to,” Chris answers, a dark rasp in his deep voice. “It’s not some photographer who got handsy, is it?”  
  
Sebastian shakes his head frantically.  
  
“Who do you belong to, Sebastain?”  
  
“You. Always you, only ever you. Yours, I’m yours.”  
  
“Yes, you are,” Chris agrees, and it sounds like a threat, it sounds dangerous, and Sebastian dies for it. “Up you get.”  
  
He scrambles unsteadily to his feet. Chris stays seated, eyes passing over Sebastian’s body like he’s a lion admiring an antelope he’s about to tear into. Sebastian squirms, writhes on the inside like a pit of snakes, but fights to stand still.  
  
“Strip,” Chris says, a single-word that carries as much authority as a general commanding an army into battle. No space for negotiation, just obey or else.  
  
Sebastian reaches behind himself with shaking hands and pulls his t-shirt off. His hands fly to his pants, next, hurriedly getting himself naked as Chris watches with hungry eyes. When he’s bare, Chris just keeps staring. Doesn’t touch him, doesn’t speak to him. Just bathes Sebastian in his gaze.  
  
Without making eye contact, focus still trained somewhere around Sebastian’s bellybutton, Chris orders, “go find some lube.”  
  
Sebastian nearly trips over himself. He feels ridiculous, dashing to the bedroom with his hard dick bobbing shamelessly in front of him, but the embarrassment heightens the arousal and he’s shaking all over by the time he gets back, with a bottle in his hand, to find Chris still clothed but with his jeans shoved down a little more and his right hand lazily stroking his cock. It’s such a gorgeous image, burned into Sebastian’s eyeballs so that if he closed his eyes he’d still be able to see it in the darkness.  
  
He holds the lube out, but then second-guesses halfway through because Chris didn’t say to do that, but then panics because Chris didn’t say _not_ to.  
  
Chris notices him floundering, and his commanding demeanour slips just a little. He reaches his hand out for the bottle, taking it from Sebastian and setting it aside on the couch, and then taking his hand and pulling Sebastian towards him. Sebastian climbs onto him at Chris’s urging, one knee on the cushion and then the other, settling down straddled over Chris’s denim-clad thighs. Chris’s arms go around his bare waist, pulling Sebastian down for a deep, expressive kiss.  
  
“You’re always mine,” Chris tells him, as his beard scrapes Sebastian’s chin. “And you’re always my good boy. Even when you make a mistake. Even when you have a bad day. Even when you’re stressed and anxious and feel like nothing you do is right and you’re letting everybody down. You’re never, ever letting me down. Got it?”  
  
Sebastian nods, and a few more tears make their way to his lower eyelashes, and Chris wipes them away.  
  
“Say it.”  
  
“I’m good,” Sebastian breathes. “For you.”  
  
“Always,” Chris repeats. “Always everything I ever wanted. I love you so much.”  
  
“I love you, too,” Sebastian whispers back.  
  
Chris picks up the lube, and presses it into Sebastian’s palm. “Open yourself up.”  
  
Sebastian hesitates. Then he hates himself for hesitating. Chris told him to do something, he should be doing it.  
  
Chris kisses him again, a little slower this time. Understanding pouring into it. “If you need something, ask for it.” It’s another order, but a gentler one.  
  
“Can you do it?” Sebastian rasps.  
  
“Of course I can.”  
  
“Wanna … feel like I’m yours,” he mumbles, a feeble explanation after everything Chris had just said.  
  
But Chris just smiles into another kiss and takes the lube back. “You are mine. But if you need me to show you, I can do that.”  
  
He keeps kissing Sebastian as slicked fingers tease at his entrance, the soft pad of one circling around it a few times before pushing forward. Even with just a single finger inside him, Sebastian feels lighter, invisible weight lifted off his shoulders by imaginary wings and carried off into the night sky outside where he doesn’t have to own it anymore. Chris moves slowly, deliberately, working his finger in and out, his other hand stroking Sebastian’s cock slowly, playing with him idly, keeping warmth blooming over Sebastian’s bare skin.  
  
“You make the most beautiful sounds,” Chris is telling him, as he draws his hands away and slides another finger in, increasing the stretch.  
  
Chris’s fingers graze his prostate and Sebastian jumps, and melts at the breathy chuckle it elicits from Chris.  
  
“There, huh?”  
  
“Yeah. Fuck, Chris, right there.”  
  
Chris rubs against it, sparks erupting in Sebastian’s belly as he does until he’s _almost_ there, right at the very edge of the cliff and so ready to topple over it, when Chris pulls back. Sebastian whines, and shivers, and Chris shushes him.  
  
“Just wait,” he admonishes fondly. “Supposed to be doin’ what I tell you, and you’re still impatient. God, you’re sweet.”  
  
Sebastian shivers again, for better reasons this time. Chris’s eyes are shiny as he slicks up his cock and helps Sebastian up onto his knees. Sebastian locks his eyes with Chris’s as he sinks down onto it, the blunt head slipping past the sensitive rim and sliding further, filling him up inch by inch until their thighs touch. He’s in so deep, and pushing in deeper as he starts to grind up just a moment before Sebastian’s ready for him to, making Sebastian take it because he knows he can and knows he likes the burn in moments where he’s desperate to feel claimed.  
  
“Put your hands on my shoulders,” Chris tells him.  
  
Sebastian does, and tries not to squeeze the muscle too hard when Chris’s hips snap up and his cock drills up into Sebastian’s body.  
  
“I’m not going to touch you,” Chris says, managing to keep his voice steady even as his hips move, minute little thrusts because Sebastian’s weight on top of him doesn’t give Chris much room to move, but effective nonetheless, “but you’re going to come anyway. Just on me fucking you, bare like nobody else ever has. Right?”  
  
“Nobody,” Sebastian confirms on a trembling exhale. “Nobody but you, never let anyone else have me like this.”  
  
“And why not?” Chris insists, making Sebastian say it out loud one more time. Knowing how badly Sebastian needs the repetition to make it stick.  
  
“‘Cause m’yours.” Sebastian rolls his own hips, chasing madness, and crying out as the spot inside him is hit again.  
  
“That’s right,” Chris asserts, punctuating his words with thrusts of his hips. “All – fucking – mine.”  
  
“Please,” Sebastian mumbles, eyesight gone blurry again, sweat dripping down his chest, every inch of him on fire.  
  
“Bounce on it.” Chris smacks his ass, and Sebastian cries out again at the sharp sting of it. “Make yourself come. Show me how good you are.”  
  
Sebastian moans Chris’s name, and does as he says, rocking himself in Chris’s lap, chasing his own pleasure, with Chris’s big cock filling up every inch of him and choking out every lingering insecurity. When he comes it’s almost quiet, too intense to even grunt, quivers running through his body and leaving him twitching, a mess of sweat and semen and jellied limbs in Chris’s arms. Chris gives him only a moment to catch his breath before he’s using his strength, his massive muscles – softer now than they were when he was filming shirtless Steve scenes but so much more powerful – to pick Sebastian up and flip him over. Sebastian lands on his back on the couch with Chris over him, nipping at his neck and pounding into him, rough, forceful, driving against his swollen prostate and sending shockwaves through him.  
  
Chris growls _mine_ one more time and Sebastian slips, floats off on a warm breeze, soul leaving his body as it melts into the kind of bliss he only finds here, in Chris’s arms.  
  
Somewhere in the distance, birds are chirping. The world around him is watercolor, pastels and soft edges and dreamy florals. He blinks, limbs made of melted led, unable to move them but unwanting to. Nothing can hurt him, in this faraway pink fairytale. He’s safe. He’s loved. He can just float.  
  
Lips are on the side of his face. Warm and soft and damp, leaving moisture along his cheek as they move.  
  
He exhales, slow like a lazy river, and tries to make his own lips form words, but they won’t.  
  
“I got you,” a soft voice says.  
  
Sebastian knows that.  
  
Warm skin slides over his stomach, petting him, gently drawing him back from the abyss. Consciousness filtering slowly back in, Chris’s living room coming back into focus. Chris’s hand on his chest. Chris’s body, aligned next to his on the couch that’s only big enough for the two of them if they lie so close they nearly meld into one. Sebastian wishes they really could.  
  
“Comin’ back to me?” Chris asks. His voice quiet, resonant, vibrant in Sebastian’s ear.  
  
Sebastian hums.  
  
“Can you speak?”  
  
Sebastian tries, but no sound escapes.  
  
“Not yet, huh?” Affectionate, fond, other adjectives Sebastian can’t conjure at the moment. “That’s okay. I’m here, take your time.”  
  
Sebastian manages to shift, to roll just slightly onto his side. Chris gets his intent, and pulls Sebastian into his arms. Cradles him, rubs his back. Tangles their legs up together.  
  
“Yours,” Sebastian says, on a tired breath. It centers him, even in the lingering din of subspace. He belongs. It’s okay that he slipped up, because he belongs right here.  
  
“Damn straight, you are,” Chris agrees. He holds Sebastian so perfectly. Always does. Soft enough to be a tender embrace; tight enough to be possessive and secure. Sebastian is his, because he chooses to be. The way Chris holds him echoes that, with no need for words.  
  
Sebastian snuggles into him, and floats a while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me [on tumblr](http://paper-storm.tumblr.com/) [or twitter](https://twitter.com/turningthedials) if you want!


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